Last Rites
by Diablo Priest
Summary: Death is never far from Jennifer and Needy, even in childhood; but hope is eternal.
1. Chapter 1

Death is never far from Jennifer and Needy, even in childhood; but hope is eternal.

Contains nothing objectionable; and so, rated "K" for everyone.

Jennifer and Needy created by Diablo Cody.

_Stoop, little child, nor fear to kiss / The green buds on this bed of death._ —John Keble

Last Rites

by Diablo Priest

One Friday when Needy was six, Toni, her mother, took her straight from school to her great grandmother's house.

"Great Ma is very sick," Toni said.

The house was different. It wasn't the usual quiet place. There were people there. Some cousins, aunts and uncles were there. And Bud, one of the neighbors. He was a big man with big glasses and a robust demeanor, who always had an enthusiastic greeting for little Needy. The gentle giant always welcomed Needy as if she were an old drinking pal. Now Bud was subdued, even morose; and this puzzled Needy and made her anxious. What was going on?

While holding her mother's hand and standing amidst the chatting adults, Needy heard two lines that stood out:

"She won't last long now. The priest was here a little while ago and gave her the Last Rites."

Then Toni led her daughter into Great Ma's bedroom.

It was dark, the shades were drawn. The light and warmth of the sun were already gone from Great Ma's life. The old woman lay on the bed, propped up by some pillows. The room was cool, but a fan was running nonetheless. Needy could easily tell something was wrong. Great Ma was breathing in big laborious breaths. It was scary.

Toni prompted her daughter. Needy advanced to the bedside, but she didn't know what to do. Again Toni prodded her daughter.

"Great Ma?" Needy said.

Once more Toni prodded her little girl. Needy reached for Great Ma's wrinkled hand. It was cold, very cold. With both of her tiny hands, Needy held her great grandmother's hand in front of her in a position that resembled prayer.

"Great Ma?" Needy said again.

The old woman suddenly moved. Her toothless mouth opened for a big breath, and her eyes opened too.

Great Ma's eyes were glazed over by death and appeared to be the eyes of a blind person. To Needy, her great grandmother already seemed far away. The little girl actually raised a tiny hand and waved at the old woman, as one would wave at someone who was only nigh. There was no sign of recognition from Great Ma, who collapsed back into the rote of heaving breaths.

Toni led Needy from the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Last Rites

by Diablo Priest

Part 2

Back at home, Needy's grandparent's house, more adults gathered on Saturday.

Great Ma was gone. No more could Needy visit Great Ma and gaze upon all the nicknacks that little girls could not touch. Each nicknack had a story behind it. All were gifts from loved ones or friends, or were purchased while Great Ma was on vacations or trips. Even the shelves on which the nicknacks sat were special: The small one had been made by Great Ma's little brother, Uncle Dan; the big one by Cousin Tim, now long gone.

However, the big pink house that Big Pa, Great Ma's husband, had built had been fun for Needy to visit. There was a real doll house out back, made of wood and shingles, with a door and windows, and real tiles on the floor. A kid could actually play inside! It wasn't a tiny plastic thing.

There was nothing plastic about Great Ma.

In Great Ma's bedroom was an old photograph of a slender young solder in his dress uniform, his soft gaze penetrating through the decades. This was Great Ma's first husband. Even as a tiny child, Needy had known the picture was sacra. Hardly able to utter a question, Needy had reached for the photo, far beyond the reach of her thin white arms. Great Ma followed the direction of Needy's outstretched fingers to the top of the dresser were the picture stood in a simple frame. Great Ma smiled.

"That's Harry," she told her great granddaughter.

Great Ma had married him in 1942, and he went off to war.

Not yet twenty, Great Ma became a widow.

After the war Great Ma met another soldier, Big Pa; and after she married him, she gave birth to Needy's grandmother, who gave birth to Needy's mother.

The story was quite simple, but the allegorical meaning of the lost soldier boy in the picture would always remain with Needy. The Truth that Needy learned from the story of Great Ma's first love, the Truth that Needy learned without a lesson, without admonition, without inculcation, without a catechism: Our lives are gifts from the sacrifices of others.

Little Needy felt the despondency of the losses from all those decades. All was gone with Great Ma. All the friends, all the family, all the loved ones, that Needy had never known; and yet, they had loved Needy through Great Ma—all were gone.

Needy sat alone on the front steps while all the adults talked inside. She stared at the ground even when yet another car pulled up. An adult got out of the car.

"There's Needy," the voice belonged to Jennifer's mother. "Be nice to her, Beloved," the voice said to Jennifer, "she's having a very sad day."

Before going inside, Jennifer's mother stopped, stooped, and kissed the top of Needy's head. Needy never looked up.

The sidewalk leading to the steps was marked up with colored chalk. Just a few days before, the girls had been playing in the warm spring sunshine. There was a drawing of a rainbow, a hopscotch pattern in the shape of a cross, a picture of a honeybee, the letters TIH, and also the number 99. Jennifer stood before Needy on a slab that contained the sketch of a fish. It was a minimalist production, more symbolical than illustrative, more like an Ichthus.

"Hi, Needy."

Needy looked up, but said nothing.

Jennifer didn't know what to say.

"Uh..."

Needy looked back at the ground. "Go away," she said.

"I'm sorry your Great Ma died," Jennifer said. "I liked her cookies."

They were old fashioned mincemeat cookies. Great Ma would spread newspaper on the big dinning room table, take the tray from the oven, and line up the cookies to cool on the newspaper. The sweet aroma filled the house. But before the cookies were cold, Great Ma would let Needy have one. A little game they would play, a little ritual of love: Great Ma would say the first batch of cookies had to cool another minute, just another minute. Then she would smile a malicious little grin at Needy. When Great turned away, little Needy would sneak a cookie, which of course was safe for her to bite, yet still warm and chewy. The cookie tasted better for it.

And whenever Great Ma braked cookies or her famous apple pie, Needy always left with some. "Make sure," Great Ma would say, "make sure to share some with your friend Jennifer."

"Leave me alone," Needy said to her friend.

But Jennifer sat down next to Needy. For a while, the two friends were silent. Then Jennifer said:

"Do you want to play with your dolls?"

"No."

"I know," Jennifer said with a hint of triumph, "we can color. I brought my new coloring book—it has lots of animals in it. I was gonna get a Barbie coloring book, but I knew you'd like the one with animals, Needy. I'll let you color any animal you want to."

"Go away!" Needy screamed.

Jennifer was hurt. She stood up and looked at her friend.

"I hate you!" Needy hissed venomously.

For a moment, Jennifer stood still with her head hung to her right. When Needy was stone silent, Jennifer turned and ran away.


End file.
